A Mummer's Dance
The sky was streaked in brilliant pinks and violets over Evereska as the sun slid behind the western peaks that stood watch over the Fortress Home. A horse raced up a winding, cobbled path along the western slopes, its rider bent low over his mount's mane. Clattering across the stone to an elegant home, the elf brought his mare to a halt, gracefully dismounted and strode swiftly through the door. “Lord Anoronelen, she has given birth,” the young moon elven mid-wife stated as she took his cloak. A look of disappointment crossed his face. Daevakh Anoronelen had ridden as swiftly as he could once he received news that his wife was having the child fully three tendays earlier than expected. He had arranged to be home inside the current tenday, his post as a tomb guardian held by a younger member of their order for the next three months while he spent time with Uryamith, his wife, and their first child. Their days together were precious as their duties often found them apart. “A girl, lord. A beautiful girl with hair and eyes of deepest blue.” Daevakh smiled at this news and crossed to the back of his home where he knew his wife would spend her time as night fell. Quietly he stepped onto the balcony that looked eastward over fair Evereska. His wife reclined in reverie, a small smile upon her beautiful lips. At such times, when he beheld her, he found it difficult to believe she was a mage of considerable skill. Laying in a small crib beside her lay his child. Quietly, the child gazed upward toward the sky drawing Daevakh's eyes skyward as well. Above streaks of bright color spilled overhead but swiftly gave way to the brilliant blues of the coming night. He crossed the balcony to the crib and gently lifted the child, holding her close. The midwife stood on the doorway. “Has she named our child?” he asked. Category:Stories The young midwife shook her head. “No lord, she was waiting for your arrival. She wished you to name her.” He gazed into his little girl's eyes, eyes the same brilliant blue as the skies overhead. “Ilmen'lome then. Her name will be Ilmen'lome Anoronelen.” ---- The child’s cry woke Uryamith from her reverie, this was becoming a nightly ritual now. Only seven years old little Ilmen’lome was a very quiet child at first but this past month her nights were disturbed. The little girl spoke of monsters, shadows and other imaginings invading her room. Uryamith lay in bed listening, she kept praying the child would quiet herself, would rest this night although she knew by the tenor of Ilmen’lome’s cries there was little hope. Her husband, Daevakh was away in the Graycloak Hills again, he had a way with his daughter when her terrors came but it would be several month before he returned again to the Fortress Home. Pulling the covers aside Uryamith rose from her bed and slid into a light robe. As she padded across the darkened room Ilmen’lome’s crying became more earnest, her little voice carrying an edge of fear. It broke the mage’s heart to hear her daughter cry so. Slipping silently down the hall Uryamith reached her daughter’s room. The door was cracked open as it was every night since the dreams, if that’s what they were, began at the insistence of the child. Opening the door and peering in at the crib she saw Ilmen’lome sitting up, facing the window. Moonlight streamed into the room adding a silver glow to the child’s brilliant, deep blue hair. The young mother watched quietly a moment, this was not common of elven children who normally rest peacefully. After several heartbeats she entered the room. As she drew near she noticed Ilmen’lome’s eyes, they were full of terror and seemingly fixed on a corner the moonlight did not touch. Following her daughter’s gaze she thought she saw movement, a dark form within the shadows. Stepping between the darkened corner and the small crib in which Ilmen’lome sat, near shrieking now, she gazed deeper. A shape took form, a wiry monstrous shape. The intruder began to raise its head and Uryamith glimpsed yellow eyes. Fear seized her as she caught her breath, backing into the crib. Chanting a brief cantrip the elven mage summoned light, chasing the shadows from the room. The form was gone, the room empty save for the screams of her child behind her. ---- A small group of elf children played amongst the trees of a small park. They ran, climbed and rough-housed, laughing merrily. Kneeling a short distance from the others was a young elf girl, her blue hair hanging over her face as she drew in the dirt in front of her with a twig. Although about the same age as the other children, their summers numbering roughly a score, she was smaller and far thinner. Uryamith and Daevakh watched the scene from the balcony at the back of their home. The warrior stood behind his wife, both arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. After a time a raven-haired girl ran over to where Ilmen’lome knelt and sat beside her, they spoke merrily for several moments. The girl then took the little blue-haired child’s hand and they both ran to join the others in their play. The normally stoic tomb guardian smiled. “She’ll be fine, mela, our daughter is just a bit timid. Give her time, she is fast friends with little Tindomerel. She will find others.” Uryamith reached back to touch his cheek. “I know, but she often sits alone while the others play and I worry.” “Does she still draw those creatures?” Daevakh asked, his voice tinged with concern. His wife shook her silver-tresses. "Not so much anymore. She draws unicorn and other fantastic creatures as often as not now.” “Ah good” he replied and returned his attention to his child at play. “She may be frail, mela, but look at her. See how she scampers across that bough like a squirrel?” The elf mage sighed softly and turned to face her husband, gazing into his pale blue eyes. “We have spoken of this, Daevakh. Ilmen’lome is small and not of a disposition that would suit a life with the blade.” He smiled wanly. “I know. My family has been guardians of these tombs for generations. Is it wrong for a father to wish the traditions of his family be carried on by his children?” “N’uma, of course not.” She said softly. “We must be mindful to avoid pushing her into a life that is not of her choosing.” Daevakh kissed her forehead. “Your are right mela, and we are yet young. Lady Goldheart will bless us with another child. Ilmen’lome will choose her own course with our blessings and love.” Uryamith looked up at her husband and smiled. She turned around and wrapped his arms about her waist, gazing down at their child as she laughed and ran with the others. “She does seem to be more attuned to the Weave than most,” she said, giving voice to her thoughts. Her husband looked over her shoulder to her face as she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully and smiled. “Another mage then?" ---- Four pair of elven girls sparred on the large wooden floor, all dressed in padded sparring tunics and wielding wooden swords. Standing nearby, watching the proceedings was their teacher, an elven warrior in her middle-years by the name of Kilya Ravensong. She looked upon the girls, all in their early adolescence, appraisingly, finally approaching one pair to correct a riposte. The other pair of girls continued sparring. Ilmen’lome, was squared off with a sun elven girl, Andune Cuivaloke. Although nearly the same height she was far more slender, weaker than the larger, golden-locked child. Both were bathed in sweat as the day’s lessons were nearing an end but it was obvious that Ilmen’lome was tiring. Her teacher was very pleased with the moon elven girl’s footwork but she just was not strong enough, her shoulder and arm grew heavy swiftly. Andune redoubled her attack, trying to use her power to break through Ilmen’lome’s defenses. Finally her parry came too slow and it earned her a stinging slap across her abdomen. As Ilmen’lome lowered her sword Andune flashed her a sweet smile, The young sun elf flicked her wooden blade against the moon elf’s ear painfully before turning to face their instructor leaving Ilmen’lome to glare at her back, her face hot with anger. The two girls had grown up together and played together although they were never friends. Andune was haughty, her family having little use for those beneath their perceived station. Also the sun elf was successful at everything she attempted. She had a knack of making the difficult look effortless. The little moon elven girl was strange to the eyes of most elves. She tended to make those who knew her uncomfortable with her sharp tongue and mischievous nature. Her pranks, although harmless, often had a nastiness to them which she seemed to derive too much pleasure from. Ilmen’lome watched as Andune turned her full attention to their instructor’s speech. Lowering her head she allowed her brilliant blue hair to spill over her face but her eyes never left the sun elf, still burning with rage. She heard nothing of Kilya’s words, her focus laying upon Andune who listened attentively. Under her breath she began to whisper between her teeth soft, arcane words. Ilmen’lome’s eyes slowly shifted to Kilya her left hand tracing a subtle pattern in the air behind the blonde elf’s back. Focusing intensely an image formed in her mind, a creature Ilmen’lome knew would terrify the sun elf. Slowly, silently the creature crept up Kilya’s back as she spoke. Finally it’s forelegs curled around her shoulder as it pulled itself up to perch there. Andune screamed, her face going pale with fright as she looked directly into the eyes of a huge spider fully the size of her hand. The shriek startled the other two students and their instructor. From their vantage point they could not see what had frightened Andune so. The young sun elf suddenly raised her sparring sword and lunged at her teacher’s shoulder. The warrior easily deflected the blow. “Child, explain yourself” she stated firmly. “A spider Mistress Ravensong. A huge one perched on your shoulder.” Andune stammered. “It…it isn’t there now, it must have fallen off.” The girl’s face began to redden with embarrassment. All eyes scanned the room for the creature but the wooden floor lay bare and empty as always. All eyes except Ilmen’lome’s, her head still lowered, her wicked smile still hidden behind her brilliant blue hair. ---- Ilmen’lome sat on a couch in her room, her shoulders slouched, looking at her feet. Her 80th birthday had recently passed and she was preparing to leave home for the Academy of Magic. Next to her sat a stuffed bag, the young elf had completed packing and was now waiting quietly to leave. She tucked her hair behind both ears and sighed audibly as her mother entered the room. “It is time to leave, Ila,” she said, noting her daughter’s apparent unhappiness. Ilmen’lome looked up at her mother. “Must I take me apprenticeship with Istar Aurelaire?” Uryamith smiled gently at her daughter. “Tindomerel will be taking her apprenticeship with you. You have been friends since you were little, I would think you would be pleased.” “Uma, atara, I am pleased about that, but Andune will be attending as well.” “I know, Ila.” Uryamith replied. She knew her daughter and the young sun elf did not get along well. “But in life we must learn to deal with those we do not get along with. Consider it a lesson, tinu, learn from it.” Ilmen’lome looked back to her feet and nodded slowly. Andune’s barbs bothered her and she knew she needed to learn to ignore them. But it was difficult, her arrogance grated on the young moon elf and her tongue normally got the better of her. Worse yet Andune was two years older, and already two years into her apprenticeship. She would most likely flaunt that over Ilmen’lome. Her mother was right, she needed to think of this as a lesson, a trial to overcome that she could grow from. The young elf smiled impishly and stood. “Very well, atara, I am ready to go.” She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She knew she had a talent controlling the Weave, perhaps this was her chance to finally show up the haughty sun elf. Perhaps, finally, things would not come quite so easily to Andune. ---- The crisp autumn breeze drifted down from the mountains surrounding Evereska as the sun began to dip behind the peaks. It was just before supper and many of the students of the Academy of Magic were enjoying the clean air outside in the grove surrounding the spire. They tended to gather in groups and at the center of one such gathering was a slight moon elf, her blue hair reflecting the orange light of the setting sun. She spoke in an animated and expressive fashion, laughing often and causing those about her to join in her mirth. Ilmen'lome had found she was popular with many of the younger students for her playful nature and disdain for authority. Although she had made many friends her studies were not going near so well. Her attention often wandered and she did not enjoy the many tomes she had to immerse herself in. Most of the students studied long into the nights but Ilmen'lome instead sought mischief and laughter. This earned her the disapproval of many of her teachers, foremost among them Istar Aurelaire whom she was formally apprenticing under. This evening, however, such concerns were far from her mind as she reveled in the attention of her peers. She was so wrapped up in yet another wild imagining that she did not hear the footfalls of four older students as they approached. Her first warning was a painfully familiar voice speaking in a mocking tone. “Ah look, it's the little silver. She would do well to use half the concentration in her studies that she does in her jests.” The young moon elf turned to face the sun elf addressing her. Once again Andume had come to embarrass her in front of her newfound friends. “Andune, I knew the air had changed.” Andune smiled sweetly, a smile that Ilmen'lome had come to loathe. “Indeed, Ila. Change will come and you will find yourself home again. It is obvious to all that you are not to walk your mother's path nor your father's. In time you will see this and resign yourself to the fact that you are and always will be a small, odd, little girl.” Closing her eyes Ilmen'lome fought to push down her anger, replace it with jest but the sun elf's barbs struck too close to home. She found herself standing flushed, tears of rage forming on her cheeks. Smirking the sun elf turned, calling over her shoulder. “Sweet water, grey elf, I wish you and your family well.” Grey elf…the insult was too much for the young silver. Her control lost, she hissed the worst insult to the young gold she could imagine. “Vyshaan whore.” Andune stopped and her shoulders tensed. Ilmen'lome could see the insult stung. For a sun elf to be called a member of that reviled clan was near as deep a cut as one could deliver. The little moon elf smiled and in her self-satisfaction dropped her guard. Spinning quickly Andune threw a punch catching Ilmen'lome square in the nose. Delivered with such force the moon elf staggered back and dropped, seated, in the grass her vision blurred. She heard laughter and in her dazed state it echoed through her ears. After several moments she collected herself, warm blood running down her chin. Her hair had fallen forward, covering her face but she lifted her eyes and watched coldly as Andune walked away, laughing merrily. ---- The tall, raven-haired moon elf strode briskly under the boughs of the grove that stood outside the Academy of Magic, her long tresses flowing behind her. Peering between the trunks anxiously, Tindomerel sought out her unusual, blue-haired friend. She had been close to Ilmen’lome since they were children and she was concerned. It had been two days since the incident under these same trees between the moon elf and Andune, the arrogant sun elf. The tale had spread throughout the Academy and many felt that the frail moon elf had brought it upon herself with the harsh curse she had uttered. Since then Ilmen’lome had been oddly reserved, her ready smile and laugh absent. Finally Tindomerel spotted her friend sitting crosslegged under a tree, an open book in her lap. Ilmen’lome’s head was lowered as if reading, her hair spilling over her face. Tindomerel knew the little moon elf well enough to know this posture and what it meant. She tried to catch Ilmen’lome’s eye but, as she drew nearer she could see that her gaze was drawn elsewhere, a disturbing intensity lit her, now blackened, eyes, Following her gaze, the black-haired elf saw that sitting in her usual perch in the boughs of a tree was Andune. She was studying there as she often did, ignoring the silver who sat nearby. The mythal surrounding Evereska allowed those inside to climb vertical surfaces easily so it was not uncommon to see elves finding solace in the heights. Tindomerel returned her attention to her friend and noticed her lips moving, although she was not near enough to hear the words, and her hands tracing a subtle pattern over the pages of he open tome. At first she thought Ilmen’lome may be practicing a spell, but the book in her lap was a recounting of The City of Song, a simple history. As she stood, pondering this three sun elves walked past Tindomerel, calling to Andune to join them. The gold elf called down, stuffing her book into a small pack and dropping it the twenty or so feet to one of the girls below as they gossiped gaily. Always athletic, Andune leapt gracefully to a branch about five feet lower. Much to Tindomerel’s horror the branch Andune grasped for seemed to shift suddenly, and instead the young sun elf struck her chin on it. She cartwheeled backward, her head striking one of the tree’s gnarled roots with a sickening crack as the root split. She lay there silent and unmoving. One of Andune’s friends cried out in alarm bringing elves running from throughout the grove of trees to the gold’s crumpled form, blood flowing freely over the root. Unable to believe what she had just witnessed Tinomerel turned to look at her friend. Ilmen’lome sat silently, peering out at the scene from under her hair. Her impassive face in stark contrast to the hot rage burning in her blue eyes. ---- Uryamith sat in Istar Aurelaire's study awaiting him. Having rushed directly from her post when she was summoned she was still dressed in the robes that marked her as a Spellguard. Feeling uncharacteristically impatient her eyes scanned the spines of countless tomes lining the walls. Aurelaire kept his study rather dark and there was significant clutter upon the desk in front of her. The room was predominantly browns and reds, a rather austere setting for a rather austere mage. The silver-haired mage was worried, she knew this summons had to concern her daughter, Ilmen'lome. From speaking to her various teachers many had expressed concern that she did not take her studies seriously despite her apparent talents. They felt she needed to be more serious in her studies but they were most impressed how quickly she seemed to pick up every spell, every cantrip they taught her. Several of the papers on the desk stirred, snapping Uryamith from her contemplations. She turned to see Aurelaire enter. He was a tall gold elf, black hair falling past his shoulders and old, wizened eyes peering from a typically elvish face. Silently he strode to the opposite side of the desk, his many-pocketed, red robes rustling as he passed. Uryamith stood, “Mae govannen, Istar Aurelaire.” The old mage nodded politely, “Mae govannen Uryamith Anoronelen. I trust you are well?” “I am well, but concerned why you felt the need for such an urgent summons.” As he took his seat across from the Spellguard he gestured for her to do the same. “You have heard about Andune Cuivaloke's accident?” “Indeed I have,” Uryamith responded. Steepling his fingers thoughtfully on the desk in front of him Aurelaire sighed softly. “Andune is my best student. We hope she will be able to return to her studies within the next few tendays. It is fortunate that she was not killed. She was to begin taking classes at the Academy of Arms as well but now that must be delayed another season while she recovers.” Frowning, Uryamith was confused, “is this what you summoned me for, Aurelaire?” “In a sense it is. You know young Tindomerel I am sure?” The Spellguard nodded, still baffled about why all this would be important to her and her daughter. The mage continued. “Well, she came to me most upset, she feels that your daughter may have caused Andune's accident in some manner. She saw Ila sitting nearby, she felt she may have altered a branch in some manner causing Andune's fall. Of course this would be well above your daughter's studies as yet so we are uncertain quite what Tindomerel saw.” Narrowing her eyes Uryamith blurted out, “now that is just absurd. The girl fell from a tree, did not others see this?” Aurelaire nodded. “Uma, they did. There were many witnesses to the accident and only Tindomerel spoke of your daughter's involvement. But this is just one of a number of things that concern us about young Ilmen'lome. You are aware she does not keep a spell book? She has no discipline, no desire to learn. She is talented, that cannot be denied, but without discipline the Weave will be dangerous and unpredictable in her hands. She has no respect for this power and she often uses it in inappropriate and trivial ways.” He wrinkled his nose in disdain. “We cannot allow that. And now with her only friend claiming that, perhaps she tried to kill another student…well, we cannot allow her to continure her studies. We ask that you remove her from the Academy immediately” Uryamith was speechless. Ilmen'lome? Dangerous? Her head reeled as she thought of the implications to her daughter. All would know about this, she would most likely never find a proper place among her people in Evereska. The poor girl seemed to be having a difficult time as it was. The silver-tressed elf knew her daughter had felt this was her path, her place in life. Ilmen'lome's talent was obvious yet now even this was not meant to be. She felt anger rise in her, the anger of a mother whose child was threatened. Quelling the growing rage she leveled a cold look at the old mage. “If this is your final decision then I have little recourse. Where is my daughter?” ---- The sun shown brightly over the rocky, desert landscape. Cold gusts of wind stirred the sands, causing the patrol of tomb guards to pull their cloaks tight about them. Daevakh Anoronelen weathered the unfamiliar environment stoically. These were not the lands the seventeen elf band of tomb guards he led normally walked. They had been summoned here from the Grey Cloak Hills to hunt creatures that had recently escaped from beneath a Vyshaan cairn. Dangerous creatures whose name he had not heard before, phaerimm. Evidently just one of these beasts had all but wiped out the first patrol that stumbled upon them, only four had survived the encounter. Worse yet, evidently there were many more. The tomb guard and a human band of crypt robbers had unwittingly freed them from hundreds of years of imprisonment. A short distance ahead Daevakh could see his two scouts, Marwyn and Tanalon carefully cresting a rise, the cliffs marking the border of the mountains Evereska lay just to the west. These last few days on the Desert Border East had been very uneventful, just sand, wind and rock. During this time the moon elven tomb guard found his thoughts wandering back to his wife and daughter. He had not seen either of them for some time, his daughter, Ilmen’lome, for more than a year now. She had been growing more and more distant in the five years since she had been forced to leave the Academy of Magic. Uryamith told him that Ila spent most of her time alone at their home since she also was frequently away with her duties as a Spellguard. This worried Daevakh, he wished a better life for his daughter than this. Looking ahead to his scouts he saw that Marwyn lay flat at the top of the rise, among the rocks and sands seemingly watching something below. Tanalon, a sun elf, hurried back to him to give his report. “We have spotted one ahead, by the base of the cliffs. It seems to be alone.” Daevakh nodded. “Good, only one should be a fairly easy target. In this open terrain it will have little defense against our archers.” Turning he motioned silently for the others to take positions on the small ridge. Finding his own position near the center of the formation his tomb guard had set, he looked down on the creature. It was a very strange looking thing this phaerimm. A large many-toothed maw surrounded by four arms were at the front of a long, tapering body that floated slightly off the ground without support. It had a long, spiked tail trailing and Daevakh could not see anything that resembled eyes or ears. It hovered somewhat listlessly by the cliff wall, it’s arms moving slowly. They had been warned that these creatures were resistant to magics, but not immune. The best way to attack would be by bow and blade. Perfect, the moon elf thought, as he signaled his archers to launch their first volley of enchanted arrows. Most found their mark, most seemed to bounce off or have very little effect against the phaerimm. The creature turned toward the tomb guard and, moving incredibly fast for its apparent bulk, glided swiftly toward the center of their formation. Another volley struck the thing with only slightly better results than the first. It seemed to whistle shrilly as it neared the elves. The two scouts leapt from hiding, swords in hand, at it’s flanks but the phaerimm was incredibly fast. It tore Tanalon’s belly open with a clawed hand. He fell to his knees, a look of shock on his face as his entrails spilled out onto the sands. Another hand grabbed Marwyn by the leg and threw her, dashing her head against the rocks. It was nearly upon Daevakh now. The patrol’s mage, Karaly blasted the beast in the side with a bolt of lightning, but it just seemed to absorb the energy from the spell and reflected it back at the caster. Karaly slumped to the ground lifelessly, a hole blasted through her chest. Jumping to his feet Daevakh drew his sword and charged forward, flanked by a pair of moon elven brothers. He felt fear well up in him as it became obvious that they had vastly underestimated this foe. Swift as lightning two arms shot out taking each of the brothers in the chest. Daevakh heard their screams of pain but could not afford a glance, he was too close to the wildly thrashing beast. Darting to the right to avoid one arm he hacked at another of the phaerimm’s limbs. His sword bit deep but the monster did not slow. The elf stepped to the left to avoid a second attack but was caught in his sword arm. He heard a snap and felt a sharp pain as his forearm was shattered, his blade tumbled to the ground. The phaerimm tore at his chest and, with two of its arms, grabbed Daevakh, slowly crushing him, pulling him towards its maw. Pain flowed over him in waves and threatened to rob him of consciousness. His vision blurred, all he saw were gnashing teeth drawing near. As darkness took him he heard comforting words, the Prayer for the Dying, issuing from his lips. “Behold, there in the West. There I see my comrades and my lovers, my childhood friends, those who have gone before me and those…” ---- Uryamith laid her bags at the front door before heading to the balcony at the back of their home that overlooked Evereska. The Fortress Home seemed eerily quiet, war had reached her gates. Sitting in a chair, huddled under a blanket was her daughter, Ilmen'lome. She had spoken very little since news that her father had vanished somewhere in the Desert Border East along with his entire patrol. As she had done these past several days she just gazed silently over the valley. The Spellguard watched her daughter silently a time, lost in thought. Although no sign had been found she knew her husband was dead, she felt this in her heart. The Swords of Evereska, in trying to keep the phaerimm from escaping the tomb they had been in had been dealt a horrible blow as well. Her armies lost, Evereska had little more defense than their ancient mythal and the mountains now. They had lost contact with the outside world due to the phaerimms' magic. Completely isolated from the outside world and with little hope that aid would arrive Uryamith had to fulfill her duty and leave her daughter in order to defend this, the last standing Tel'Quessir refuge. It pained her to see her daughter like this. Young Ilmen'lome had been very close to her father. The young moon elf spirits rose whenever her father was able to tear himself from his duties as a tomb guard and return home. She had taken news of her father's disappearance very hard. Softly she called to the young, blue-haired elf. “Ila, I must go now.” Ilmen'lome merely nodded silently, never taking her eyes from the city before her. “Please, Ila, we need to speak before I go. I know not when I'll see you again.” She pleaded. “In Arvandor most likely, atara.” She responded softly. She turned then and Uryamith could see the fear plainly in her daughter's eyes. “First father and now you…” Uryamith tried to smile hoping it would bring comfort to Ilmen'lome but her eyes remained unchanged. “Your father was a brave man, Ila. I am certain he would not wish you to mourn him so. He died defending those he loves.” She crossed the balcony to her daughter and held her close, Ilmen'lome's head tucked under her chin. “Besides, I am not afraid. I will return to you shortly so have no fear.” Her daughter looked up to study her mother's face, her brilliant blue eyes oddly cold. “Everyone fears, atara…everyone.” ---- The Spellguard found herself lying in the grass, her vision blurred as she slowly regained consciousness. It took her several moments to gain her bearings and remember what had occurred. The mythal had been breached and the phaerimm had entered Evereska. Laying by her was another Spellguard, Fistruel, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, his dead eyes fixed on her. Tearing her gaze from his she looked about at the broken bodies of the other defenders she had stood with. None stirred, the paths were eerily quiet but for her own breathing. Slowly Uryamith pushed herself to sit, her body protesting with the effort. Sitting for a moment she took stock of her injuries. Mostly cuts and bruises, her robes were torn and bloodied but she could move, she had to move. The phaerimm were in the city now and she had to find a way out for her daughter. Clambering to her feet she saw her broken staff lying nearby. Her spells were nearly gone, she had used them all in the battle. Desperation seized her and she began off in a run toward the western slopes where Ilmen'lome would be. As she ran she saw carnage, dead elves laying along the paths. The few living she saw had haunted looks and some injured wandered aimlessly. She could not stop to aid, not yet. Finally, as she drew near valley wall she saw a large group of armed survivors. One of them, a wood elf she recognized as Sithralis, stepped forward and hailed her. “Uryamith, we gather to escape through a western passage. Join us, there is little time.” The Spellguard shook her head. “I must find my daughter, I will meet you then.” “Very well” replied Sithralis, his voice filled with urgency “we will wait a time, sister. Please hurry, the phaerimm have moved swiftly and I am not certain anywhere is safe within Evereska now.” Nodding Uryamith headed down the paths to her home. It was yet a long trail up along the slope. After a while the signs of battle began to wane and Uryamith's hopes rose. Perhaps Ila was fine, perhaps she would be able to retrieve her daughter and bring her to safety. Dashing up the final incline that wound to their home she began to hear a soft whistling, as wind through rocky peaks. She knew that sound, it had haunted her reverie of late. As she opened the door she cast a look back down the path. Gliding up was a lone phaerimm, it had evidently marked her passage and had followed. The creature's long, tapered body swayed and it's four arms waved excitedly. Her heart leapt to her throat and she threw open the door and ran inside, “Sehanine protect us.” ---- Waking, groggily, from her reverie Ilmen'lome heard someone running down the hall outside her room. The door was thrown open and her mother dashed in looking battered and frantic. Her robes were covered torn and covered in blood. “Atara, what is it?” she asked, fear edging her voice. Uryamith grabbed her hand and dragged her from the couch. “We need to go, Ila, now.” Dressed only in a brief nightshirt the young moon elf started toward the dresser her robe was draped over. “Now Ila, there is no time!” Uryamith shouted and shoved Ilmen'lome into the hallway. “We need to go to the back. It's not safe out front, they're coming.” Although she was still very confused the fear in her mother's voice had her running toward the balcony at the back of the house. It was a good thirty foot drop to the paths below but she had faith that her mother could get them to safety. As she neared the balcony a large crash echoed down the hallway. “Run, Ila, don't stop!” Uryamith called to her. Ilmen'lome became aware that she no longer heard the sounds of her mother footsteps. She dashed out onto the balcony and turned to look for her. The Spellguard stood halfway down the hallway, her back turned to her daughter. Past her Ilmen'lome could see the most horrific creature she had ever laid eyes upon. It's four arms waved from the front of its long, cone-shaped body at the front of which a huge maw snapped greedily. An odd whistling filled the hallway as it stalked closer to Uryamith. Ilmen'lome could hear her mother speak, arcane words to summon energies and cast them at the creature in a powerful bolt of electricity. The bolt slammed fully into the phaerimm but, unphased, the creature seemed to absorb its energy. For a moment the phaerimm stopped, then suddenly the whistling sound intensified. A blue ray leaped from one of it's hands and enveloped the Spellguard. Her body tensed as she was jerked straight, her feet lifted slightly off the ground, then spun around to look directly at Ilmen'lome. Uryamith hung still, the young elf could see the terror written plainly in her eyes. Then her body spun again like a ragdoll and tore to pieces, splattering her daughter with her blood. All Ilmen'lome heard was a scream, her own scream, echoing through her head. She could not move, could not run, the horror of what she had seen rooted her feet in place. At the edge of her consciousness she heard the phaerimm in the process of what sounded like another spell. Suddenly she was lifted and thrown, tumbling backwards over the rail of the balcony to crash onto a stone, paved path below. Lying on the stone Ilmen'lome felt her life ebbing. She knew she would soon die. She could not move, her body was broken from the fall and she felt her own blood pooling beneath her. Looking across at the park she often played in as a child her vision began to dim. As her eyes slowly closed she thought she could hear the sound of soft-booted feet running, and then silence. ---- The sun elf moved quickly across the make-shift camp that now housed perhaps two-score elves. She had been summoned to the tent in which she had spent most of the last tenday holding vigil. As she drew the flap and stepped inside one of the young clerics there motioned her over. “She is awake, Andune. She has not spoken much as yet so we cannot be certain what she remembers.” Andune nodded grimly. “May I see her then? Placing a hand on the young gold’s shoulder the cleric smiled. “Of course you may. I am certain she will be gladdened to see you.” Smiling weakly Andune walked toward the back of the tent “we shall see.” She approached a bed in which a thin, moon elf lay, her shoulder-length, blue hair tucked behind her ears as she gazed outside an open flap onto the mist-covered hills outside. Andune had only been in the camp about a day when a small group of refugees arrived with Ilmen’lome. They had seen her thrown from the balcony of her home to the ground below and rushed to aid her. Fortunately a priest had been among them and had been able to keep her alive during their struggle to flee the overrun city until he finally fell in order to assure their escape. This small group of elves had wandered the Gray Cloak Hills aimlessly for several days before finally stumbling upon this encampment. The moon elf was the first face Andune recognized since the mythal was breached and had stayed by her side since. The clerics of this camp were only of modest ability. They had been able to mend her body but Ilmen’lome had lain unconscious for the last tenday, clinging to life. None were certain if she would ever awaken. As she drew near the young moon elf turned to face Andune, tears welling in her blue eyes. She was very pale from her ordeal and her face was still bruised. Her expression was hard to read at first, the sun elf saw the surprise in her eyes before they softened as Andune sat on the edge of the bed. “I am sorry.” Ilmen’lome whispered. Taking her hand Andune recalled their feud. It now seemed very long ago and she could find no anger in her heart for Ilmen’lome. “I am as well. It all seems so foolish and childish now.” Nodding, the little silver lowered her eyes. “I saw her die, Andune. I….” she choked, unable to finish, and started to cry, silently. Andune took her into her arms and held Ilmen’lome’s head to her shoulder. “I know, Ila. Many are gone,” she whispered. As she held the weeping moon elf the senselessness of it all overwhelmed her. How would they recover from this? There were too many dead to count, too many to mourn, too many passed who’s fate would remain untold. Looking over Ilmen’lome’s trembling shoulder, across the mist-covered hills toward the valley where Evereska lay, the young sun elf finally wept. ---- A new morn had just dawned as a fine mist fell over the bustling camp. Well over a hundred elves found shelter here while they prepared to return to their home, Evereska. Word had reached them that the mythal had been mended and the phaerimm routed. Soon they would be returning to the Fortress Home to rebuild this ancient, elvish city. On a hill overlooking the camp an elf stood alone, her slight figure wrapped in a cloak. Ilmen'lome allowed her head to remain bare so that she could feel the mist upon her face. Playful breezes swirled and teased the edges of her cloak on their journey eastward toward the rising sun. She watched with a smile as they played everywhere throughout the camp and surrounding hills. The winds sang gaily as they passed through the tents below and stirred the various flags and banners that hung proudly overhead. Another elf, hooded and cloaked against the wind and light rains, strode up the hill toward Ilmen’lome. Reaching her side, Andune stopped and gazed into the moon elf’s eyes from the depths of her hood. “Ila, you do no have to leave. Why not stay and help us here?” Ilmen’lome looked down the hill behind her where a caravan was readying to leave. It had journeyed from Cormyr with supplies for the beleaguered Evereskans. Having delivered this aid the humans were making final preparations, and in a matter of minutes the moon elf would be traveling eastward with them. “Evereska is my home and it always will be, Andune, but it is not my place. I must go elsewhere if I am to find it.” She looked at the sun elf, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Besides, can you see me taking on such tedious work?” Andune laughed, “I suppose not. Still, you will always be welcome. I will keep a place for you.” The little silver elf hugged Andune. “Sweet water and light laughter, my friend, and thank you.” She then smiled at the gold elf before turning to join the caravan below. As she approached a pleasant faced, burly human standing on a wagon gestured her over. “You can ride up here, little miss,” he said, and offered her a hand. As he pulled the moon elf into the wagon, he smiled warmly. “As long as we’ll be travelin’ together we should be knowin’ each other’s name, I’m Barthum Riverston, an’ your name?” Ilmen’lome considered this a moment. She felt the playful tug on her cloak goading her to join the games and looked up into Barthum’s broad face, smiling impishly. “My name is Breeze.”